


Order

by ficteer



Category: OFF (Game)
Genre: M/M, The Batter - Freeform, Zacharie - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:56:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficteer/pseuds/ficteer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keep your mask on, he says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Order

How exactly the fuck Zacharie is supposed to do that is beyond him. The Batter had gotten him worked up into another one of those situations where he was hot and sweaty and all kinds of bothered beneath his collar, though he wasn’t wearing one any longer. His hair was slick with sweat and mussed where fingers had searched for a hold and - ah, yes, running his tongue over the back of his teeth revealed the taste that reminded him why they’d been there in the first place. He’d never get tired of hearing the Batter beg for it.

But even without his sweater on, even with the slight breeze from the vents in his office, there was really no escape from the heat. The Batter was athletic and holy damn did he have a crazy internal body temperature even without the red flush on his skin as he ran slicked fingers over his cock to lubricate it. The sight made the room even hotter, Zacharie’s teeth sinking into his lower lip to try and bite down the wicked grin that threatened to split his face yet again. Nah, probably shouldn’t do that. It might kill the mood, he thought, only to hiss in a sharp breath when the Batter’s dextrous fingers traced the veins of his erection delicately. He’d almost use the term affectionately, but he wasn’t quite sure he was convinced the Batter even knew what the hell that emotion was, let alone how to express it sexually.

Zacharie hummed his pleasure when the Batter eased inside, rolling his head around his shoulders before feeling his mask slip a bit. Oh yes, the strings were loose from where the Batter had gripped his head and encouraged him to go deeper, and his sweaty skin was slippery as sin. He was supposed to be trying to keep his mask on, and that meant that he couldn’t toss his head around like he wanted to. He would have pouted were it not for the fact that his tongue curled in on itself at a particularly delicious thrust. His lips buzzed with life, so much that he had to press them tightly together. He wanted it, wanted the Batter’s mouth searing his, wanted to let him know what his orgasm tasted like, wanted to experiment with the flavor of each moan. But not this time; he couldn’t move his mask.

He wrapped his legs around the Batter’s hips, loosely; enough so that he could feel the power in his lover’s legs, but not so tight as to hinder the back and forth motion that had his lower body aching with a pleasure that bordered on something painful and divine in the same movement. Divine, as close as he could ever get to such a thing, here in this world of plastic and blood, where his fingers clutched in the white fabric of a shirt and smelled of ozone and sweat and a sugar so sweet his teeth throbbed almost as much as his heart behind his ribs. For blood flow, or for something else, something more sickeningly banal, he wasn’t sure, but something about the closeness of the Batter, of the moment when his body felt tight and his fingers clenched - because surely this was what it felt like to fly, this is what it tasted like to swallow a star and have it explode into a supernova in his body, this is what it felt like to hold hands with a god of fire and not get burned - something was, as simply as he could put it, perfect. And something about it made his pulse chase like water over a cliff, even when he cracked, when he forgot everything that he was, everything that was the Batter, everything except this sensation of wholeness and ecstasy.

His fingers were pale and aching, was his first thought when he came down. He loosened them from the Batter’s shirt, but he didn’t let go. Not when it was easier to lean forward and press the forehead of his mask to the shoulder beneath them, and exhale shakily as he waited for the praise.

He’d kept his mask on.


End file.
